No One Proposes to Anyone in this Story
by I'm All Teeth
Summary: "She wanted to tell me that she heard it from Blaise who heard it from his mother who heard it from my mother's hairdresser that I had asked my mother for her mother's engagement ring because I was planning on proposing to someone." In which Draco does not propose to Hermione. Short. Fluffy. One-shot. Done.


**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. If I did, I would be rolling around in my piles of money and Dramione would be canon. Unfortunately, I am not JKR. Go buy her books and read them.

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When she stands to leave, he does not move to stop her. He never moves to stop her; never really cares if she actually goes and then cares even less if she feels the need to return. She always does, and so when she leaves this time, he sips his vodka- straight, in a whisky tumbler- like always and breathes deeply the smells of leather and polished wood without the distinct overtone of her perfume.

"Sometimes I think that you don't ever see me. Like we're both on Draco Malfoy's team and neither of us are on mine." She slams the door on her own words, too angry and keen to act out her emotions to really care at the mixed structure of her sentence.

Draco cares, though. Draco notices, and cares, but simply cannot be bothered to respond. The wood in the fireplace snaps like it's laughing at a funny joke or clapping its hands.

Draco drinks. This is not his first glass of the evening, nor will it be his last. His tongue interprets the burn of the liquor as water, and he is very thirsty. It is snowing outside, but he is not sure how he knows this. A sixth sense, then. A bit of clairvoyance.

He wonders when Pansy will come back. He hopes it will not be soon.

She does not live in his home. She has no reason to ever really come to his home. They have never been married, have never been lovers, have never been family, and never even wonderful friends. He would, for instance, never trust Pansy with a secret, but that is not for want of trying on Pansy's part. She shows up, every few months or so, inspired by some recent soundbite of gossip to try to rekindle a fire that was never lit.

He takes a sip of his drink, a smirk forming on his lips when he considers the most recent, most vulgar of episodes that she was coming to console him over.

"Is she gone, then?" Asks a voice from the doorway, brittle with annoyance.

Draco takes another sip and does not turn his head.

"Why, yes, Hermione. She _is_ gone." Hermione says, affecting a deep, nasally voice. "And might I say that I am awfully sorry to have cut out lovely evening of booze and books short in order to shoot the breeze with my old racist mate."

Draco's smirk only deepens as he detects a note of jealousy in that voice. "Is that really what I sound like to you, Granger?" He drawls, taking another sip of his vodka.

"And the mute man speaks! I take Pansy didn't bother sucking your soul out this time, then?" She marches into Draco's line of sight, her arms folded across her chest and her hair expanding in annoyance.

"Not in so many words, no." He responds taciturnly. He takes another sip.

She cocks an eyebrow at him. This habit is infuriating. He has never mastered the art of raising only one eyebrow at a time, and so he is jealous of her ability to look so incredulous with only one, deft facial movement.

"Then what did she want?" Hermione's voice is like bricks in the winter- unflinching, cold, and eager to break your face in.

"She wanted to tell me," he replies slowly, emptying his glass. The vodka is settling in his stomach like fire or courage, "that she heard it from Blaise who heard it from his mother who heard it from my mother's hairdresser that I had asked my mother for her mother's engagement ring because I was planning on proposing to someone."

Whatever Hermione was expecting, it was not this. She blinks at him, her mouth slightly agape, and Draco relishes the fact that, for the first time, he has left her speechless. The vodka has not shut up every voice of doubt in his body, apparently, since there is a niggling in the back of his brain that is telling him to just whip out his wand and obliviate her before she can laugh in his face.

Thankfully for all involved parties, Hermione recovers first. "And what did you tell her?"

"I said that yes, I had in fact inquired as to the location of that specific part of my inheritance because it is actually technically _mine_ and that I may be planning on asking my girlfriend to consider a more serious alternative to dating but that I hadn't found the right time or," he licks his lips. His throat is very dry and, for once, he wishes that Hermione would perform her purpose on this planet and interrupt him already but she appears to be hanging on his every word, "or the nerve to ask her yet." He concludes lamely. He wishes for more vodka. A lot more. Enough to forget this painful conversation, and possibly whatever is going to come next.

"Oh," says Hermione, annoyance apparently forgotten as two bright spots of blush rise in her cheeks. After recovering her normal , rather constipated look, she adds, "So what's stopping you from asking now?"

"Right now?" Draco clarifies and he is embarrassed to admit that his voice actually cracked.

Hermione shrugs. "Or whenever, really. Assuming, of course, that you are planning on asking your current girlfriend, as in the one standing in front of you right now, and not someone else." Her words trip over one another in an effort to leave her mouth first.

Draco leans back in his high-backed chair and ignores the feeling of his internal organs turning over. "Well," he says slowly, "for one thing, I don't know that she'd say yes. I'm not going to bloody well make a fool of myself if she won't say yes. And-"

"She'll say yes," Hermione cuts in quickly.

Draco chuckles, and his internal organs vanish completely and are replaced with a substance that may be warm honey. "And for another, the ring is presently travelling by owl post from _Paris_, and isn't set to arrive for another week."

Somewhere far away, a large clock chimed ten times.

"Oh." Says Hermione and then, again, "Oh." He has never heard her say that words so many times in such a concentrated period before in his life.

The minutes drags by it utter silence, and Draco feels warmed from his toes to the top of his head. The fire and alcohol were each only partially responsible for this.

"So you'll say yes, then?" He asks eventually, just to confirm that they are actually talking about the same thing.

"Get the ring here first, Malfoy, and make an actual proposal. Then we'll talk." She is already striding back out of the room. "I'll leave you here to brood for as long as you want, but I am going to go back to the library and I swear that I will finish reading Vanity Fair alone if you don't hurry up."

When a small, happy sigh, Draco lifts himself from the chair, and follows after her.


End file.
